


First Christmas

by CumberCurlyGirl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom John Watson, Christmas, Clothed Sex, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, First Christmas, Fluff and Smut, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Oral Sex, Suitkink, Top Sherlock, Video Cameras, marriedlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-17 18:20:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14194929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CumberCurlyGirl/pseuds/CumberCurlyGirl
Summary: Sherlock and John's first Christmas after being married.  John buys Sherlock a beautiful new suit.  Sherlock surprises John by incorporating the suit into a very sexy and original gift in return.“John, I love it,” he said. And he did. It felt like John himself wrapped around his body.  The suit fit him like a glove.  The fabric was rich and soft and oh so posh. John had wanted to dress him in luxury, to make him feel sexy.  He did feel sexy, he felt… powerful.  He was going to repay John. Yes, how he was going to repay him for this generous gift.  He felt giddy with pleasure at the thought.





	1. Early December

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [30 Days of Sherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7929796) by [AtlinMerrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/pseuds/AtlinMerrick). 



> I read 30 days of Sherlock by Atlin Merrick and could not get the suitkink/pillow fucking out of my head. It was brilliant and inspired me to write this.

John was sitting at the kitchen table addressing Christmas cards when Sherlock shuffled into the room in his dressing gown and pyjama bottoms, yawning and running his fingers through his tangled mop of dark curls.  A crease lined his face where it had been pressed against the pillow.

John looked up and said, “Morning love.”

“Mmph,” Sherlock said grumpily, as he headed for the coffee.

“I made some extra eggs,” John said, “help yourself.” John always made breakfast for Sherlock, though Sherlock rarely ate it.

“Not hungry,” Sherlock said, as he poured coffee into his mug. 

John sighed. “Think of all the starving children in Africa.”

"So, send them my eggs.” Said Sherlock sarcastically.

 _It was going to be one of_ those _mornings_.

As if sensing John’s annoyance, Sherlock walked over, put a hand on John’s shoulder and, pressing his lips to the top of John’s head, mumbled “What are you doing?” into his hair.  

“Writing our Christmas cards.  I’m only about a quarter done; you could help.”

Sherlock snorted loudly. “Christmas cards! What on earth for? First of all, it’s barely December. Second of all, what a colossal waste of time and effort. I could be doing something much more productive than sending false sentiments to people I find annoying, to celebrate something I don’t believe in.”  He accented this with a dramatic roll of his eyes as he plopped into the chair across from John.  Picking up a card he waved it about. “Snowmen!  Really John?  That’s just embarrassing.”

“Sherlock, it is what normal people do at this time of year and I thought it would be nice on our first Christmas as a married couple to send out Christmas cards.”  John was indeed sentimental about this sort of thing and thought that they should act as a proper couple.

“Mmm–noo” said Sherlock disdainfully, “but do go ahead if you must.”

John sat back, folded his arms across his chest and looked at his husband. “You know I am going to get you a gift, right? Just how far were you planning to take this anti-Christmas sentiment, Ebenezer?”

Sherlock paused and considered this. “Well, that's different, that's you and me, John, not _other people,_ ” air quotes plain in his voice.

 “All right then, what’s on your list,” asked John.

“Well…I could use some chemistry supplies. Maybe a burette and phenolphthalein or maybe a nice micropipette?”

John continued to gaze at Sherlock. This morning, like most, he was a dishevelled mess, with an unshaven face, messy hair, and with serious morning breath that John could smell across the table, but he was still so insanely sexy. John had never stopped being undone by Sherlock’s physical presence. Beginning when they had first met at St. Bart’s when John could not identify what he was feeling, but subsequently recognized as lust for another man, which had blossomed into admiration, friendship, and then love. Whether he was wearing pyjamas, a suit or nothing at all, Sherlock made John’s knees weak. A suit.  John was especially fond of Sherlock in a suit. This was fortunate because Sherlock wore one almost every day. 

“A new suit,” John said abruptly”, I’m going to get you a new custom-made suit for Christmas.”

“That’s rather extravagant, don’t you think?”

“Ok right, I probably can’t afford a bespoke suit, but a really nice one anyway. It’s for me too because you are gonna look goddamn irresistible in it.” John grinned.

“Mmm, OK,” said Sherlock with a smile in his voice, but purposefully not showing it on his face.  “What’s on _your_ list – and you better not say a jumper because I won’t be getting you one! In fact, you are the one that could use decent clothes. You dress like a bloody grandfather. I can barely tolerate being seen with you,” he teased.

John walked around the table and straddled Sherlock, pulling him close till they were nose to nose, ignoring the morning breath. "I really mean it, we are going to get you a spectacular suit that clings to every fucking gorgeous line of your body and then I’m going to rip it off you. Or maybe you will do a strip-tease for me.” John closed his eyes as his imagination conjured up the image. “Or maybe you can just keep it on and fuck me in it. Wouldn’t that be a sight,” he sighed. “Not that I’d be able to see it properly.”

”We could always ask Mycroft for a copy of the surveillance tape.”

”Wha—“

”I’m joking love, but I wouldn’t put it past him,” Sherlock said.

John opened Sherlock’s dressing gown and caressed his bare shoulders and chest. They kissed. Tenderly at first, their tongues moving lazily, like they had the rest of their lives to explore each other, which of course, they did. Then, with more urgency as their passion escalated. John’s caressing hands pinched Sherlock’s nipples and Sherlock gripped John’s buttocks, squeezing. Each could feel the other’s erection begin under the thin material of their pyjama bottoms. John moved his hips, rubbing himself against Sherlock.

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes, even if you are a Scrooge,” John whispered in Sherlock’s ear.

“I love you more, John.”

“Impossible.”

“Shall we go shopping?”

“Let’s go back to bed first.”


	2. The Purchase

Later that morning John was sitting in a comfortable chair at Alexander McQueen, on Saville Row, as Sherlock tried on suits. 

“How about this one?” Sherlock asked as he twirled dramatically before John in a dark grey wool suit, the fifth one he had tried on so far.  

“It’s nice, but you have so many black and charcoal suits; maybe try a blue one?” Truthfully, John was just enjoying watching Sherlock have fun. Sherlock absolutely loved clothes shopping.  He took pride in being impeccably dressed, at least when he wasn’t looking like a homeless person – there seemed to be no in between with him.  For a time, in the beginning, John wondered if his formal “costume” was just a way to keep people at arm’s length, an armour.  He had decided that this was partially true but that Sherlock did secretly enjoy looking put together. Since they had become a couple, Sherlock no longer pretended with John. It was no use, John could see through him in an instant.

After a few minutes, Sherlock walked out of the dressing room in a two button, slim fitting, single-breasted suit in navy blue with a subtle maroon stripe. 

“That one,” John said.

“You think?” Sherlock said, looking critically at himself in the mirror.

“Yes, definitely.”

The shop’s tailor was called in who turned out to be a small Frenchman with a thin moustache, thick glasses and a tape-measure about his neck, and he immediately set about making the necessary adjustments.

“Monsieur, an excellent choice,” he said with a thick accent.

“Oui. J’aime ça,” ( _Yes. I like it_ ) Sherlock said in flawless French.

The tailor began by pinning the jacket to accent Sherlock’s slim waist, giving him the “V” shape that a perfectly tailored suit aims to achieve.

Sherlock instructed him to leave 2 cm of shirt-cuff visible and John chimed in, requesting a more tapered trouser leg to show off Sherlock’s long legs. As he watched the trousers being pinned and marked, he fixed his eyes appreciatively on Sherlock’s backside.  _Much more of this and I’ll be ready for another go_ , he thought.

“Vous avez un corps parfait pour ce style,” ( _you have the perfect body for this suit_ ) remarked the tailor as he worked. 

Measuring Sherlock’s inseam, he asked, “De quel côté?” ( _Which side_?)

“Le gauche” ( _left)_ Sherlock answered.

Finally, the measuring and pinning were done, and Sherlock came out of the dressing room again wearing his own clothing.

“Merci,” he said to the little man.

The man replied “De rien!” ( _You are welcome!_ ) and turning to John said earnestly, “Vous êtes un homme très chanceux!” ( _You are a very lucky man!_ )  John, who did not know French, looked at him blankly. 

“Just agree,” Sherlock instructed.

John smiled and nodded.

“Can I interest you in a coordinating tie?” asked the salesman as they walked to the cash register.

“I don’t wear ties,” Sherlock said, in a tone that foreclosed all debate on the matter.   

John paid the bill and salesman explained that at least one more fitting would be necessary and that they could indeed expect to have the suit in time for Christmas.  After leaving the shop, they caught a cab back to Baker Street.

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock said, clasping John’s hand as they sat close together.

“As I said, Sherlock, this is as much for me as it is for you. Say, how about working on those Christmas cards when we get home?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well it was worth a try,” John sighed.


	3. A Gathering of Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve at 221B

_The week before Christmas_

The suit had been completed, although Sherlock did not allow John to come to the final fitting and pick-up. Nor did Sherlock model it for John.  It hung on the back of their bedroom door, unworn. Christmas cards had been written and sent (thanks entirely to John). 221B had been decorated with lights and garland.  John and Mrs Hudson had done the decorating while Sherlock (above such frivolity) had conducted experiments at the kitchen table that somewhat ruined the festive mood when an explosion spattered a black sticky substance all over the flat.

As had become tradition, John and Sherlock invited a few close friends over for Christmas Eve. Molly, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft, and Harry Watson had been invited, although they doubted Harry would show. Lestrade had asked if he could invite Philip and Sally, which caused a minor row. John had never forgiven them for the way they had treated Sherlock, how they had contributed to the destruction of his reputation. Even though they had been pawns in Moriarty’s game, they had been willing pawns, and he could not let that go. Plus, with Moriarty dead, John had no one else on whom to take out his anger. He had given up his anger with Sherlock long ago, had forgiven him on a tearful, wonderful evening of soul-baring and love-making, right before he proposed and Sherlock accepted.

To John’s great surprise, Sherlock had not been opposed to inviting them.  

“Oh come on John, it could be fun, I’ll torment them, put eyeballs in their punch!”

“No, Sherlock, It would ruin our first Christmas to have them in our home. They remind me that I almost lost you and that my heart was completely and utterly broken. Really. No.”

“OK Captain,” Sherlock said, using his pet name for John as he wrapped his long arms around him in a bear-hug. “You win, I’ll text Lestrade and let him know.”

“That reminds me,” John said, into Sherlock’s shoulder. “It’s ‘Greg’”.

“What?”

“Greg Lestrade. It's not Gavin, or Gary, or Giles. It's Greg. Say it.”

“Greg.”

“Good, again,” John demanded, pulling away.

“John!”

“Christ, am I going to have to write it on your wrist before the party?  Do you think you can make a teensy bit of room in the Mind Palace for the man’s name? Maybe move out one of the one hundred and forty kinds of tobacco ash?”

“One hundred and forty-three.”

“Say it please.”

“Greg.”

“Thank you.”

“Is his wife, whatshername, coming?” Sherlock asked.

They’ve been divorced for six months, thanks to you,” John said, wondering if he needed to review the names and personal details of all their guests with Sherlock before Christmas Eve. “He did say he was bringing a date though, and so did Molly.”

“Humph, ‘new people’,” Sherlock said with distaste.

 

 

_Christmas Eve_

Still, John’s gift to Sherlock hung on the back of the bedroom door.

“Sherlock, are you going to wear the suit tonight?” John asked as they were tidying up for the party. “I’m really dying to see you in it.”

“It’s not Christmas yet,” Sherlock said with a devilish grin.

“Oh, but surely Christmas Eve is close enough?”

“I think I’ll keep you waiting.”

“Git!”

Sherlock dressed in one of his charcoal suits with a navy shirt and John donned jeans and a red and green striped jumper, which earned him a disapproving look.

“What?” John asked, catching Sherlock’s frown.

“I guess I should be grateful that you hide your charms under those hideous jumpers,” Sherlock laughed. “I am sort of glad that only I know what is underneath. Otherwise, I’d have to fight off the competition.” Sherlock walked up behind John, who was looking at himself in their full-length mirror. He slipped his hands under the jumper to John’s toned stomach which had just a bit of pleasing softness overlying the muscles and bent to nuzzle John’s ear.

Before they became lovers, John would have never imagined that Sherlock would be so...cuddly. He had discovered since that Sherlock craved physical attention and that he was happy to give it in return. His had denied himself pleasure for so many years that it sometimes seemed like he was trying to make up for lost time, and John was pleased to be the beneficiary, if not the cause, of this awakening.

Sherlock’s hands drifted lower, to the waistband of John’s jeans, then lower still, searching for his cock.

“Sherlock, our guests will be here any minute.”

As if on cue, they heard a “whoo hoo” as Mrs Hudson let herself in.  “Happy Christmas boys!  I brought some goodies for you.” They joined her in the living room, and hugs and kisses were exchanged.

Soon after that, Mycroft arrived with a bottle of wine in hand. “‘Happy Christmas’ is what one says, I suppose,” he said with a sour look on his face. “I may only be staying for a bit; I have some important business that requires my attention. The situation with Nigeria is heating up, and really, I only have so much patience for social interaction.”

“Some things never change,” John muttered under his breath.

“Oh do get over yourself, Mycroft,” said Mrs Hudson. I think the British government can do without you for one night. This is special. It’s Sherlock and John’s first Christmas, and Oh, it’s so sweet!” She clasped her hands and beamed.

Sherlock ignored his brother completely.

Greg and Molly appeared at the door. John greeted them and took their coats.

“I thought you two were bringing dates,” John said.

“We did,” Greg said, putting his arm around Molly, who blushed.

“Ah, well…,” John said, at a loss for words. “That’s…um…wonderful!” He looked at Sherlock who caught his eye and returned the surprised expression.

Molly looked at Sherlock as if asking for approval. Everyone knew of Molly’s past crush on Sherlock and had that she had held out hope until after Sherlock had come back from Serbia. When he and John had almost immediately become lovers, her dreams were dashed. She had supported the relationship because she loved them both and knowing how happy Sherlock was, had been able to move on with her life.

Sherlock smiled broadly at Molly and hugged her. “I’m happy for you Molly; Gav… er… _Greg_ is a good man.”  

“Thank you, Sherlock, and happy Christmas,” Molly said, pecking him on the cheek. “Oh, and I just loved your Christmas card. Sooo cute!” 

Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, we can thank John for that.”

Soon everyone was drinking and eating and generally having a good time, even Mycroft, who after having been persuaded to have a third scotch, was in good spirits and seemed to have forgotten all about Nigeria. Harry, as expected, was a no-show, but it was probably just as well.  

Someone, very likely Molly, suggested that they play charades, which elicited howls of protest from the Holmes brothers. Mycroft, because he considered it silly, and Sherlock, because he was rubbish at it.  There was no space allocated in his brain for things he deemed irrelevant, which included popular movies, songs, and books, not to mention the solar system. The brothers lost the vote and the group divided into teams. Molly, Greg and Sherlock against John, Mycroft and Mrs Hudson. Even though Mycroft considered the game silly, being a virtual Wikipedia was an insurmountable advantage and in the end, his team won in a landslide. Sherlock, on the other hand, had not known any of the answers and was bewildered and annoyed when his teammates had not guessed Marie Curie’s _Radioactive Substances_ from his gesturing.

There was more drinking, laughing, and the sharing of often told stories of past cases and adventures.

Finally, Sherlock brought out his violin and played _Silent Night_ beautifully to end the evening.  

The guests left, and Sherlock and John collapsed on the sofa. John sitting, with a glass of wine, and Sherlock lying on his back, head in John’s lap. “We’ll clean up tomorrow,” John said, running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. “Let’s just stay here a while.”

“Can’t,” Sherlock said, getting up. “I’ve got plans for us.  My gift to you is a two-parter.  I’m going to give you the first part tonight and the rest tomorrow. I want you to sit right here and drink your wine. I’ll come to get you when I’m ready.” He gave John a quick kiss and retreated to the bedroom.

Intrigued, John sipped his wine and went to sit in his chair by the fire. Gazing into the flames, he slipped his hand down to his crotch and stroked himself through the denim, wondering what Sherlock had in store for him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The visualization of Sherlock playing charades made me laugh out loud. Also -I promise this story will earn its rating in chapter 4.


	4. Sherlock's Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suitsex - there is nothing more to say.

Presently, the bedroom door opened and Sherlock walked out wearing John’s suit and a white shirt with the first three buttons undone. One more button than usual, revealing his smooth white chest. He stood before John’s chair, the firelight partially illuminating him as he looked down at his husband. 

“John, I love it,” he said. And he did. It felt like John himself wrapped around his body. The suit fit him like a glove. The fabric was rich and soft and oh so posh. John had wanted to dress him in luxury, to make him feel sexy. He did feel sexy, he felt… powerful. He was going to repay John. Yes, how he was going to repay him for this generous gift.  He felt giddy with pleasure at the thought.

“So, what do you think Captain?” he said, as he did a slow rotation in the firelight.   

John looked up at Sherlock, his jaw slack. “Oh my God.” was all he could say. The suit clung to Sherlock’s lean body in an almost obscene way. The colour was a deep blue that contrasted with the alabaster skin and set off Sherlock’s beautiful multi-coloured eyes. His gaze took in Sherlock from the top of his curly head to his feet. Sherlock was barefoot. “ _Oh, bloody hell_ ,” somehow that made the whole thing more erotic. Those bare feet. 

Oh fuck! How did I end up married to this gorgeous creature? John thought.

I’m going to blow his fucking mind, thought Sherlock simultaneously.

Sherlock pulled John to his feet, bent and kissed him deeply.

“My gift to you tonight is me in this suit,” Sherlock said. “Remember when you said that you wanted to see me fuck you in it? Well, your wish is about to be granted. Tonight is about you, John. I’m going to show you how much I love you, how much I need you, how much I _owe_ you. You have saved me in so many ways, and I'm yours. But tonight I intend to possess you, to take you apart. “

He took John’s hand and led him down the hall to their bedroom. As they entered, John noticed that two tripods with cameras had been set up with views to the bed. The duvet had been removed and was neatly folded on the floor, and on the sheet lay a length of cord, a black ribbon and a bottle of lube.

“What the hell…”

“The second part of my gift is a video of us,” Sherlock said, as he went to each camera and switched it on. Picking up the cord and putting it in his pocket, he led John to the foot of the bed. Sherlock grasped the hem of John’s jumper and pulled it over his head, throwing it aside. John stood there in only his jeans, his erection straining against the denim. Unflattering jumper gone, he was a handsome man in his own right, compact and muscular, with golden curls on his chest and belly. Sherlock bit his lip with desire.  Going slow was going to be so hard.  

Sherlock kissed John’s mouth and then his neck and shoulders, giving special attention to the scar. He kissed his chest and stomach, pausing to suck a nipple. He knelt before John, unbuckled his belt, and unfastened his jeans. John’s entire body was tingling with anticipation. The knowledge that it all was being recorded only served to heighten his pleasure. Sherlock tugged John’s jeans and underwear down, and John stepped out of them and kicked them aside.

Now John stood naked as Sherlock knelt fully clothed before him. He looked up at John but did not touch him. John looked down and saw _those eyes_ looking up at him through a fringe of black curls.  _I might come just looking at him._  Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out the cord. Standing up again, he took John’s hands and used the cord to tie them. He positioned John’s bound hands behind his head and tied the ends loosely around his neck. 

“You good?” Sherlock asked.

“Oh god, yes,” John answered.

They had an established safeword, "bluebell" ( _yes, as in Bluebell, the rabbit!_ ), but it wouldn’t be necessary tonight. Sherlock did not intend to inflict pain.

Sherlock stepped back from John and looked over him approvingly. Standing naked, with his hands tied behind his head, he looked magnificent. His large cock was erect and stood out red and pulsing, pre-come dripping from the tip. Sherlock kissed John sweetly, letting his tongue explore John’s mouth, run over his lips. He did this for a long time. He kissed the end of John’s nose, then moved behind him and began kissing the back of his neck and his fingertips while reaching around and rolling John’s nipples between his fingers. With one arm holding John to keep him steady, Sherlock grasped his cock. John, with his hands tied behind his head, was helpless to do anything but moan. Sherlock kissed John’s shoulders, pausing to suck a small bruise on his collarbone, all the while stroking him with his hand.

_The cameras continued to record._

Sherlock planted kisses down John’s spine to the dimple above his buttocks. “You’ve got a great arse, John,” he whispered as he kissed it. Kneeling again, he extended his long tongue and ran it slowly between the cheeks of John’s backside.

John made a low guttural noise deep in his throat.

“Sherlock,” he gasped.

Sherlock took John’s hips and rotated him so that his cock was directly in front of his face again.  He circled the head of it with his tongue slowly, teasing John, who tried to thrust his hips forward, but Sherlock held them firmly in place.

At last, Sherlock let John’s cock slip past his lips as he took as much of it as he could into his mouth, relaxing the muscles of his throat and applying suction. Fireworks were going off behind John’s closed eyelids as he felt the soft warmth of Sherlock’s lips around him. There was no room for any other thoughts or feelings. John’s whole world had collapsed down to the sensations that were coming from his cock as it moved in and out of Sherlock's hot, wet mouth. He was not going to be able to remain standing much longer, and his knees buckled slightly.

“Sherlock, please!”

Sherlock rose to his feet and untied John’s hands. He directed John to lie on the bed as he unbuckled and removed his belt. He joined his lover and lay on top of him, pressing his whole length along John’s body. It was a strange feeling. John was used to feeling Sherlock’s skin against him, but now he was separated from it by the barrier of Sherlock’s suit. It made him feel…he could not place the feeling … _vulnerable_ , _yes, deliciously vulnerable to be naked under a fully clothed man_. John found Sherlock’s earlobe and sucked on it. He knew that this drove Sherlock mad, and Sherlock responded by grinding his hips into John's naked flesh.

_The cameras continued to record._

Sherlock sat up, straddling John’s thighs. He picked up the bottle of lube and squirted some on to his hands which he used to slicken John, then pumped his fist along John’s cock as his husband writhed on the bed. John didn't know how long he was going to last if this continued. As if reading his mind, Sherlock stopped and said, “Oh no, not yet John, not yet.” He took the black ribbon, which John had completely forgotten about, and held it up. “Something I learned on YouTube,” he said, grinning. Looping the ribbon around John’s cock just below the head, Sherlock pulled it taught around the shaft, holding the ends of the ribbon about four inches out on either side. Slowly, he pulled one end of the ribbon while releasing the other side. This caused the ribbon to slide around John’s cock. Sherlock reversed the motion, sliding it in the other direction. Back and forth he moved the ribbon, as he did this he slid the ribbon down the shaft to the base and then up again, just at the head, pulling at the ribbon to increase the pressure. 

The sensation was exquisite, enough stimulation to be wholly pleasurable and different from anything John had ever experienced, but not quite enough to put him over the edge. And so on the edge he stayed as Sherlock continued to move the ribbon. “Have you had enough?” Sherlock asked after several minutes. I'm enjoying watching you, I am. But what I really want now is to be inside you." 

John, panting, gasped. “Yes, please!  I want you NOW Sherlock; I want you to fuck me right FUCKING NOW!”

“How shall we do this?” asked Sherlock.

“I’d better turn over, or I’ll get jizz on your suit,” said John, rolling to his stomach.

“Right. That’s what I was thinking.”

Sherlock covered John with his body once more. John could barely be seen beneath the larger man, he was engulfed, and it felt glorious. Sherlock kissed the back of John’s neck as he ground his suit covered cock against his arse. Then he rolled off to one side and found the lube bottle. He squeezed lube onto his fingers. While kissing and biting John’s back, he slipped his fingers between John’s buttocks and slowly pressed his index finger inside. John exhaled as he tried to relax against the intrusion.

“God, Sherlock, I want you so much.”

“Relax John, it will be better for you if we do this right,” purred Sherlock into John’s shoulder as he continued to slide his finger in and out. After a moment he added a second finger, and finally a third. Soon John began pushing back against Sherlock’s hand.

Sherlock curled his long fingers and found John’s prostate, which he stroked, causing John to shudder and exclaim, “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” into the pillow. “I’m ready Sherlock. Please!”

Sherlock withdrew his fingers from John's body and unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers. He was wearing nothing underneath. He couldn't resist looking at the camera and giving it his most charming smile as he pulled out his cock and slicked it with lube, thinking of how John was going to enjoy watching this performance, how John would stroke himself, how he would come as he watched himself being taken.

John rose to his elbows and knees as Sherlock positioned himself. Holding John’s hips, he pressed against him and slowly pushed, entering just a few inches before stopping to let John’s body adjust. When he felt him relax, he pushed forward inch by inch until his hips were pressed against John’s buttocks. It took all of his self- control not to withdraw and thrust. Instead, he gritted his teeth and remained still.

“For the love of god, MOVE!” commanded John.

“Well if you are going to use your 'captain’s voice', I can’t refuse.” 

_The cameras continued to record._

Sherlock slid in and out of John. He moved slowly at first, pulling almost entirely out before pressing in again, wanting to make it last, but John urged him to move faster. Sherlock obliged by thrusting harder and increasing the pace. John moaned as he envisioned what the cameras were recording. John Watson being fucked by the poshly suited Sherlock Holmes. This was, incredibly, just as sexy as he had imagined it.

Sherlock soon realised that he was not going to last much longer. He found the lube bottle, squeezed some into his palm and took John in his hand. John thrust into Sherlock’s fist as Sherlock thrust into John. “Come for me,” said Sherlock in a ragged voice, his breath hot against John’s shoulder.  John exploded into orgasm with a loud “Aaaaggghhh.”

Sherlock felt his own testicles tighten as his climax approached. He thrust one more time and came deep inside John. It was spectacular, mind-blowing. They collapsed together, spent.  

“Bloody fucking hell,” John said after he had recovered. “That. Was. Amazing.”

Sherlock disengaged from John and rolled off of him. “John, you said those exact words to me on our first day as flat-mates, although in quite a different context, and do you know what? It never gets old.”

They both laughed at this.

John glanced at the clock. “It’s Christmas Sherlock.”

“So it is. Happy Christmas John.”

“Happy Christmas, Sherlock.”

“Tomorrow I’m going to edit the video and make you a DVD. I have a few other gifts for you as well. After all, you bought me this lovely suit."

“Sherlock, I don’t need anything else. Having you is all I’ll ever need.”

“I love you,” Sherlock said.

“I love you more.”

“Impossible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a blast writing this story. I hope that you liked it. Sherlock and John together make me insanely happy.


End file.
